That was the first of many nights. The game grew more intense and violent. Sometimes Spaen made her threaten him with a knife or gun. Peony had wondered where he’d gotten the weapons. Now she knew. She’d seen and heard things on Deshima, and not just on the night Spaen had disappeared. Eventually they’d learned to communicate using a mixture of simple Japanese and Dutch words. Sometimes he told her interesting things. This was his legacy to her, a payment for the suffering she’d endured during their game’s other phase.

She’d soon understood that for Spaen to completely enjoy sex, he must first abuse his abuser, mocking and mistreating her in front of other people. He derived extra pleasure from the reversal of their roles, the constant shift of power between them. This caused terrible anguish to Peony, who had told the sōsakan only half the truth about her feelings toward Spaen. She’d loved the barbarian for the power and ecstasy he’d given her; she honestly grieved for him. She’d accepted the rules of their private game. Yet she had hated the humiliation of cleaning up the dung he’d deliberately spilled, of enduring his insults. The besotted love slave in her wanted to die so they could spend eternity together, but the survivor rejoiced in his murder.

Through her lover’s death, she would live, as an independent woman who need not steal to assert her power.

In the street she spotted a town messenger, a young man with the city crest painted on a flag attached to his back, and his kimono tied up around the waist to free his legs for running. She beckoned, and he trotted over.

“Deliver this message for me,” Peony said. She whispered in his ear the name of the man from whom she’d stolen the treasure, then said, “Tell him Peony has the property he lost. She’ll return it for ten thousand koban.” This sum would settle her debts and secure her future. “He must come alone to my room tonight, with the money, at the hour of the boar.”

She explained what would happen if he didn’t, then paid the messenger, who ran off to deliver the ultimatum. Peony smiled. She was sure the man would meet her demands. Yet even if he refused, she couldn’t lose: She would simply sell her prize to the sōsakan, and win her freedom that way—with the added bonus that she need no longer fear being convicted for the murder of her lover.

“Peony!”

Minami’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Get back in the house. Now!” Scowling, he grabbed her hair, dragging her inside. “You have work to do.”

Peony’s secret buoyed her heart. Hiding a smile, she murmured, “Yes, master.”

He was her master now, but not for much longer.

11

十一